


said no more counting dollars (we'll be counting stars)

by mayerwien



Series: a collection of fics where the author said fuck you to her adhd [4]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Casinos, Character Study, F/F, Gambling, Gen, Post-Canon, Vacation, don't @ me if there are no bathroom windows in the kurhaus baden-baden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/mayerwien
Summary: Debbie lifted her hand, letting the suds run off the lacelike gold of her Buccellati ring as she held it to the candlelight. “I haven’t bought the plane tickets yet… Besides, it’s not about the money.”“You think I don’t know that? It’s never just about the money with you.” Lou’s voice was drawly and lazy in a way that meant she wasn’t actually annoyed or even resistant to the idea. She paused. “What is it about, then?”“Nothing. I thought it could be a vacation for the two of us. Just like old times.”---or, Debbie Ocean counts the cards, weighs her options, and says something true.
Relationships: Lou Miller & Debbie Ocean, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Series: a collection of fics where the author said fuck you to her adhd [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913902
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	said no more counting dollars (we'll be counting stars)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestexists](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestexists/gifts).



> For Ceece--sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy the smol cake crime!
> 
> Content warnings: alcohol mentions including underage drinking, gambling, brief mention of sexual harassment by a gross unnamed man, excessive wealth. Men suck and we should all eat the rich.
> 
> Happy Femslash February, all!

“And here I thought this was going to be a relaxing weekend getaway,” Lou says, hands gripping the wheel.

“It’s a weekend, and this is a getaway, and aren’t you relaxed? I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” Debbie gestures airily at the trees whipping past them. “Cruising along this beautiful scenic highway, the radio going, the wind in our hair…”

“The blare of police sirens,” Lou comments.

Debbie glances at the rearview. The patrol car behind them is whipping from side to side. “I took you to the spa,” she reminds Lou.

“You did take me to the spa,” Lou agrees, then sighs. “Turn it up. I need to think.”

Debbie hides a smile behind her knuckles, and turns the radio up full blast.

\---

_The con is in our blood,_ Danny had told her once. Debbie had been sixteen, and Danny was home from Vegas for the weekend. They were playing cards on the porch; Danny was best at bridge, which Debbie thought was hilarious.

Danny peered at the contents of his whiskey glass, the Bowmore that Debbie had filched from their dad’s liquor cabinet after he’d gone to bed. “We Oceans, we’re like those, what d’you call ‘em. The people who make the magic shit happen at Disneyland.”

“Imagineers.” Debbie propped her chin on her fist and considered her hand. A four and an eight. “Yeah. Hit me.”

Danny nodded and dealt her another. “We like dreaming, seeing the big picture. But you gotta think of all the details, too. Contingency plans. Contingency plans for your contingency plans. One little gear gets stuck, and the effect ripples through the mechanism of the entire operation.”

Debbie heard the words and got it; that Danny was letting her in, was trying to teach her something. Looking out for her, in his own way. And she already _knew_ how to case joints and lay out escape routes in her head—when she had time off from school, she made day trips to banks and museums and Saks Fifth Avenue, watched the movements of the guards and the security cameras, and filed all of it neatly away so she could run cons in her head during trig.

But none of what Danny was saying encompassed her _want._ It wasn’t about wealth; it wasn’t about how much things were worth or even how much they shone. It was about Debbie feeling like she was standing under a full fruit tree in summer, the lowest branch still just barely out of reach when her only desire was to reach up and take and sink her teeth in hard. She wanted the satisfaction of pulling something off and proving herself right in knowing she could have done it all along, the way prodigies know they can solve a physics problem or play the piano the first time they touch it. What she wanted was to revel in abundance she didn’t need; to feel the sweet juice of it dribbling down her chin. _Is all this in our blood, too,_ Debbie wanted to ask, and didn’t.

Danny turned over her card. Ten of spades. _Damn._ “That’s another thing about us,” he said, watching Debbie’s expression. “We don’t know when to quit.”

He didn’t say, _that’s not always a good thing,_ or, _be careful._ Debbie guessed for all that he was trying to be wise for her sake, he hadn’t cared to learn his lesson either.

Pressing her lips together, Debbie held out her open palm. “Again,” she said, and Danny put the cards in her hand.

\---

Debbie had found her partner-in-crime before she’d known she was looking, because a girl named Lou Miller was known throughout the dorm for running clandestine poker nights out of her room. The first night Debbie had gone, she’d won the whole pot of two hundred dollars on an overbet bluff.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Lou had said later, leaning in Debbie’s doorway. Her light, strawlike hair was cut straight across her forehead, like she’d done it herself with kitchen scissors. “Ocean. I’d have remembered an Ocean.”

“Don’t really like to be noticed,” Debbie had replied shortly, pretending to tidy the notecards on her desk so she wouldn’t have to keep looking at her.

“You’re not noticeable. I’m just observant.” Lou sounded like she was smiling.

Debbie finally looked up. Lou _was_ smiling, her half-lidded gaze curious, unwavering. To Debbie’s surprise, she realized she liked it. That she wouldn’t mind seeing it around more often, if the other party was so inclined.

Plucking a five-dollar bill from the wad of cash stuffed into her makeup bag, and a protein bar from the box on her shelf, Debbie held them both out to Lou. “Your toke,” she said, trying to sound flip.

The smile grew. “Come back tomorrow,” Lou said, levering herself away from the doorjamb to accept the offering. Her fingers were warm. “You have my textbook allowance for next semester, and I intend to get it back.” And she had.

Years later, in their first apartment, Debbie wandered into the kitchen and asked, “Hypothetically. Would you ever turn me in to save yourself?”

And Lou, who was cleaning out the new coffee machine they’d bought after their most recent job, didn’t even glance up when she answered, “Never.”

“Wrong answer,” Debbie said, leaning back against the cool countertop, even as she felt something click into place inside her chest; safe, secret.

“Mmm.” Lou hummed a snatch of song from the radio. Her voice was careless and light. “I’m never wrong.”

\---

To be fair, Debbie had been upfront when she’d asked.

“How would you like to count a few cards and scam the Casino Baden-Baden?” she said, propping her feet up on the rim of the bathtub. The lavender-scented clouds of bubbles parted, and Debbie trailed her fingers languidly through the foam. “Short and sweet. We could practically sleepwalk our way through it.”

The phone on the ledge next to the tub sighed. “Darling, we literally just finished cashing in the jewels,” Lou said over speakerphone. The choked sputtering of an engine could be heard in the background. “Becker’s in the clink, we’re all thirty million dollars richer. I am in _Phoenix.”_

“When you get back from Phoenix, then.” Debbie lifted her hand, letting the suds run off the lacelike gold of her Buccellati ring as she held it to the candlelight. “I haven’t bought the plane tickets yet… Besides, it’s not about the money.”

“You think I don’t know that? It’s never just about the money with you.” Lou’s voice was drawly and lazy in a way that meant she wasn’t actually annoyed or even resistant to the idea. She paused. “What _is_ it about, then?”

“Nothing. I thought it could be a vacation for the two of us. Just like old times.”

“Hmmm. No other ex-boyfriends you’re trying to turn in? No old nemeses you’ve got tucked away?”

“None,” Debbie said, and meant it. This would be the first time, after Becker. The first time she’d be running a con without the steady, quietly burning flame of anger powering the engine. For once, she wanted it simple and easy and fun. And _(but, somehow, still—)_ there was Lou. “You have my word. Just you and me.”

Lou sighed again, her can’t-say-no-but-I’ll-pretend-I-wanted-to sigh. “As long as we fly first class.”

\---

Baden-Baden was beautiful in the autumn. Debbie and Lou wandered aimlessly down little cobblestone alleys and strolled through rose gardens, and ate black forest cake and strudel at a café by the river. They even went to the Faberge Museum, and Debbie let her eyes roam over the jeweled eggs and felt no familiar, irresistible spark of desire. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying this trip; but it was strange, she thought, as she observed her reflection in the case. They were pretty, untouchable things behind glass, and Debbie was nothing more than a tourist.

“Why the long face, Liebchen?” Lou asked later that afternoon, in the Friedrichsbad. They were up to their shoulders in a thermal pool, in the center of a circular room ringed with pillars and arches and stucco cupids, and with a high domed ceiling covered in a hundred frescos. “What are you thinking about?”

Debbie had been sitting in the water, very still, and hadn’t realized she’d been making a face. What she had been thinking was, _in prison we had one cold metal shower stall with no wall or curtain, and you just had to hope your cellmates were polite about it, and being in a naked spa surrounded by strangers reminds me how much I hate feeling being exposed, like people who don’t know me could look at me and see something I had no intention of letting them see._ What she said was, “Nothing. Just about tonight.”

Lou flicked her eyes up briefly like _heaven help me,_ but then she looked back and watched Debbie’s face a moment longer, like there was just something she wanted to be sure of. “I’m going to do a lap,” she said, and Debbie nodded.

While Lou swam, Debbie reviewed their signals, and what she knew of the casino layout. It was so straightforward she hardly had to bother—but there was something small and anxious gnawing at her brain stem nonetheless, and she wondered what it could be.

A handsome local who had been eyeing Debbie across the pool started to swim over to the railing, right next to where she was sitting. Debbie had sized him up as soon as they’d gotten here; he was clearly either recently divorced or on a trip his wife didn’t know about, and very, very rich. Easily the kind of mark Debbie could have wrapped around her little finger after two drinks. The man took hold of the railing as though he was going to get out, but then made a casual comment about the weather, trying to strike up conversation.

 _“Ich bin bei ihr,”_ Debbie said, tilting her head towards Lou. The man looked visibly disappointed, but climbed out then and left her alone.

What was niggling at her, Debbie realized as she sat back with a little sigh, was the knowledge that she didn’t have anything waiting in the wings. She always had a next con lined up, but not this time. Their friends were all settled, and she was going back home to an empty apartment.

Her eyes flickered down as she watched Lou doing her lap; the way she cut gently through the water like some ancient goddess, stirring up a slow storm in a holy pool. Debbie had grown up believing there were only two states of matter, she thought; in jail or out of it, caught or not caught. But Lou doesn’t live by that dichotomy—a difference between them that Debbie had always been aware of, vaguely, but that now was standing out in sharper relief.

Lou was circling back around the pool to Debbie now. Blinking water out of her eyes, her lips curved into a smile. _Your move, kid,_ Debbie thought; in whose voice, she didn't know.

The other bathers had begun drifting into the next room, but Debbie and Lou lingered a while longer. Sunlight spilled down through the domed ceiling, over the columns and walls and into the water--and for a minute, in the space of a breath, for Debbie the world was golden.

\---

They'd booked separate hotel rooms to be safe, to avoid being seen together, but in the pre-dinner lull there was no one in the hallway who would be paying attention. With as little promise of risk as there was, Debbie wanted to risk this. So she took the elevator up and knocked, and when Lou answered in German, she replied, “Not housekeeping. Can you do up my back?”

Lou, half-dressed and with a toothbrush still hanging out of her mouth, came tripping over her hand-carry bag to let her in. “Gimme five minutes,” she said thickly through the toothpaste. Debbie padded into the warm humidity of the bathroom after her and pushed herself up onto the marble counter, wary of sitting on the eyelash curlers or the assorted bottles of fake-tan-colored foundation. Lou’s phone was propped against the steamy mirror, blasting a Beyonce song. It was funny how so many of their stories started exactly like this, Debbie thought; the two of them crammed into a bathroom, putting on their disguises.

Lou rinsed and reached for the hair dryer, and then frowned at Debbie. “Well, I can’t get at your back that way,” she said.

Debbie half-turned and angled her shoulder out. “Just the top. The neck ribbon thingy.”

“Oh, the neck ribbon thingy,” Lou replied, her voice deep and velvety with amusement. She untied the fluttery strips of fabric at the base of Debbie’s neck and began retying them; her fingertips were cool and rough and light when they brushed against Debbie's skin. “Too tight?”

“No. Tighter.” Debbie straightened her shoulders as she felt Lou pull the loops and finish the knot, the bow settling at her nape. It felt good, like sealing herself in. “It’s the skirt that’s the problem. I can barely walk,” she muttered, squirming and feeling the cheap polyester stretch across her thighs.

“You are such a,” Lou started to say, and then shook her head. “Ramona Quimby. You’re going to ask me to paint your nose with mascara next.” She spun Debbie back towards her gently, rattling her makeup pouch in front of her face. “Okay, help me pick out a shade of lipstick that says ‘wine mom.’”

Debbie backseat-drove Lou through overdoing her makeup, and then Lou stood between her legs to have her eyeliner fixed. She tilted her face up, eyes half-shut, her hands resting lightly on Debbie’s knees. “So I was just thinking about Circus Circus,” she said.

“You were?” Debbie wrinkled her nose, scraping off some of the dried gunk on the lip of the eyeliner pot with the brush. “Why? That was a terrible job. We _lost_ money.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I think about when I remember it, somehow.” When Lou laughed, her breath tickled the side of Debbie’s neck. “Mostly I remember that stupid Motley Crue restaurant with the overpriced wings, where I got you to sing karaoke. And that you had that Jennifer Aniston haircut.”

“Don’t remind me.” Debbie shuddered. “Stop talking, I’ll go all crooked.” Holding onto Lou’s shoulder with one hand, she lightly rested the outside edge of the other on Lou’s cheek.

Lou shrugged slightly under Debbie’s touch, one corner of her mouth still tipped up. “I thought it was cute.”

Debbie thought back as she proceeded to crust Lou’s outer corners with the eyeliner crumbs. It _had_ been fun, somehow; the Vegas of her memory was a heady kaleidoscope of neon, suffused with the kind of tackiness you couldn’t help but admire for its commitment. She and Lou had played cigarette girls at night and traipsed up and down the strip in the dead hours of the morning, arm in arm, everything around them sticky with sugar and sweet with smoke. “Yeah,” she said, and then made a face. “Not the haircut thing, I mean...yeah, we did make some good memories there.” Leaning back to appraise her handiwork, Debbie nodded.

Lou blinked and fanned her hands near her eyes like she was trying not to rub them. “God, that feels disgusting. It’s like you BeDazzled me with the popcorn crumbs off the cinema floor. How do I look?”

“Good. Really, um.” Debbie squinted. “Ratchet?”

Lou looked impressed.

“Constance,” Debbie explained, somewhat embarrassed.

But Lou just grinned at her, and Debbie grinned back, and for a moment, she almost forgot they were going somewhere. She was still holding onto Lou’s shoulder.

“I’ll head down first,” Lou said. Debbie nodded, and let go.

\---

Most casinos don’t have clocks or windows on purpose, Debbie had learned. They want to make you lose all sense of time. If you want to be able to keep track, always wear a watch. Danny’s was around her wrist; the worn leather band a notch too tight, the constant pressure serving as a reminder.

In spite of its refurbished exterior, every corner inside the Kurhaus whispered old money, from the ornate chandeliers to the gold leaf on the crown moulding. Debbie wanted to roll around in all of it, like a puppy in new grass. She barely resisted the urge to run her fingers through the tasseled curtains or just go barefoot on the carpet--especially since her stilettos were already chafing her ankles.

She found Lou at one of the tables easily, with a glass already in her hand. Normally Lou doesn’t like to be the center of attention--she much prefers orchestrating schemes from the wings. But when she’s on the make, she’s so good at it that Debbie could weep. Lou didn’t acknowledge that she’d seen her, but she tucked her hair behind her left ear, letting her know the table was hot.

Go time. “Mind if I mosey on in here?” Debbie chirped, sliding into the seat next to Lou. The dealer murmured a _guten Abend_ and dealt her in.

When Lou spoke, her voice was light and sweet, like coffee with too much cream in it. Even the way she cocked her head was different, all perky like a terrier. It was almost like talking to a stranger, and Debbie’s pulse reacted accordingly. “As long as you don’t tell my husband where I am.” Lou smirked and batted her eyelashes.

“Oh my God, a kindred spirit!” Debbie waggled her fingers, showing off the faux wedding ring. “Where are you from, sugar?”

“Florida,” Lou said, her accent impeccable. _Twelve,_ Debbie thought. The count was twelve. “And yourself?”

“Alabama!” Debbie beamed. “We’re practically neighbors!”

Laughing, Lou tossed her hair. Her gaze diamond-bright, so close. “In that case, neighbor, why don’t I buy you a drink when I win?” God, Debbie loved her.

“Ready to play, ladies?” the dealer asked with a patient, indulgent, ignorant smile.

\---

The casino was busy enough that they managed to score about twenty grand between the both of them, hopping tables--before they noticed a floor staff member and two security guards in the doorway, heads bent together. The staff member was saying something to the guards in a low tone, and then he pointed across the room to where Debbie was seated.

Lou had already cashed in about ten minutes before, and Debbie could sense her pacing the fringes of the room now like a caged tiger. Breathing in calmly, Debbie returned her gaze to her hand. Her whole body felt electrified--awake and alive and thrumming with excitement for the first time in months, all the gears clicking along at lightning speed. She was so _close._ It would be such a shame. Like abandoning a painting right before adding in the final details, the flecks of light on the grapes and the porcelain vase.

 _You can hold out just a little longer,_ her criminal part of her brain urged. _Lock it down._

She glanced across the room again. Lou was appearing to scroll idly through her phone, but her brow was furrowed, and she was pushing her tongue into her cheek hard. Though they couldn’t communicate from this distance, it was clear: Lou wasn’t moving without her.

And the other part of Debbie’s brain, the part she still doesn’t know whether to call the sensible part or the sentimental part—made her get up, wobbly on aching heels, and drawl, “Honey, can you hold my chips for me? Gotta go powder my nose.”

The dealer obliged, holding onto chips that Debbie had no intention of going back for. She knew Lou had seen, because she’d stepped out to pretend to take a phone call--so Debbie clutched her purse and tottered in the other direction, towards the bathroom. In her periphery, she was aware of the guards starting to move smoothly towards her, closing in like wolves, but she didn’t care. They didn’t seem like the type to follow her into the ladies’--and when she was proven right, Debbie swept past the attendant and locked the cubicle door, ripped through the fitted skirt of her dress, and left her stilettos neatly on top of the closed toilet seat lid before climbing out the window into the cool night. Technically, escape was unnecessary, given that they hadn’t actually done anything illegal, but it would have been a waste of time to try and smooth-talk their way out of a manager’s office on such a beautiful evening. Besides, this way was more fun.

Lou was already waiting on that side of the building, and she had the car running--no, _a_ car, a sleek convertible different from the one they’d arrived in. “Took you long enough,” was all she said, lightly, leaning over into the passenger side to get the door. “Seatbelt.”

Debbie slid in. “Nice ride.”

Rolling her eyes, Lou revved the engine. “Some guy tried to grope my ass, so I swiped his keys.”

“Oh, well, there’s no way he’s getting them back, then.” Debbie fastened her seatbelt with a click and smoothed her hair back over her shoulders. “What are we waiting for?”

\---

So they’re roaring down the twisty highway, and Debbie is holding Lou’s phone to her ear for her. “You have to admit, given that we’re driving a stolen car from a casino where we almost got caught counting cards, there is some irony in the fact that we’re getting chased down for speeding,” Debbie says over the sound of the engine.

“Shh. _Bitte sagen Sie mir die Kosten,”_ Lou tells the person on the other end, then grins. “Perfect. _Danke.”_ She flaps her hand at Debbie to hang up. “There’s a hidden side road up ahead. Sofia’s waiting for us with a decoy.”

Debbie squints through the wind at the road in front of them; the bends are even sharper up ahead. “That only works if we get there fast enough for them not to notice the switch.”

“Exactly,” Lou smirks, and slams down on the gas.

The car shoots forward. _“Jesus,”_ Debbie says with feeling, her fingers digging into the leather seat.

Lou laughs louder. “This baby goes zero to sixty in three seconds,” she yells. “Let’s see if we can get her up to two hundred.”

Debbie feels the bottom of her stomach dropping out as they fly, slicing a clean line through the fabric of the night. Her eyes are watering too much for her to even try to look at the speedometer; it’s as though the road has completely fallen away underneath their wheels. They’re untouchable, invincible. Lou handles the car like a pro, whipping it around the bends, only starting to slow down when she spots what Debbie assumes is a marker for the side road.

Sure enough, an identical Benz is waiting for them when they find it, idling between the trees. The driver makes sure they’re parked safely in the shadows, and then smoothly reverses the doppelganger car out onto the highway to continue speeding away right where they left off. The patrol car latches onto it, sirens howling as they both disappear into the night, leaving Debbie and Lou in the quiet.

They’re both panting. “Fuck,” Lou gets out, killing the engine and slumping back. She turns her head towards Debbie, and even in the darkness, Debbie can tell she’s smiling. _“Fuck._ That was fun.” Lou rakes a hand through her bangs, lets them fall back into her eyes. “I’d forgotten how much fun car chases can be.”

Her lungs are on fire, but Debbie bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling back too wide. She’s never been scared about getting exactly what she wants, but suddenly she feels childishly hesitant--as though the universe will sense her enjoying this more than she deserves, some god noticing the scales tipping too much in her favor, reaching down to steal some of it back. “Probably the most excitement Baden-Baden has seen in, what, thirty years?”

Lou’s laughter is like the best wine; deep and oaky, tingling in her blood. “Yeah, this drive is going on the Wikipedia article right underneath the 1981 Olympics,” she says. Debbie watches her catch her breath, her own heart still hot and beating in her throat. _She did this for you,_ she thinks. She stole a getaway car and had a backup plan ready for you.

“Right.” Inhaling, Lou jerks her head at the door. “Let’s ditch before they catch on. Though I _am_ sorry we can’t keep the car--”

“Wait.” Debbie grabs Lou’s wrist. Three fingers, against her pulse. “Thank you.”

Lou sighs impatiently. “I love you, too, Deb. Now can we--”

“No, I mean.” Debbie hates doing this. This talking thing. Directness. “I basically stuck a commercial break in your great American road trip just because I had nothing else on my calendar, and you...said yes anyway.” She swallows. “So, you know.”

When Lou smiles again, it’s different, but not because she’s acting. Like there’s something she knows that Debbie doesn’t yet. “Hey,” she says. “Come with me.”

Debbie blinks. “I assumed I already was,” she replies mildly. “Unless you were intending for me to walk to the airport?”

Lou leans across the console towards her. “I _meant,_ on the great American road trip.” Her voice has dropped to a near-whisper. “No casinos, no jewel heists. No cons. Just us and Route 66.” One eyebrow goes up. “Unless you’ll be too bored.”

Her smile is growing before she can stop it. Whichever higher power thinks she doesn’t deserve this can go fuck itself, Debbie decides, and holds up her little finger. “I promise to behave if you promise no cheesy roadside attractions.”

Lou narrows her eyes. _“One_ day at the Winchester Mystery House.”

“One day at the whatever mystery house, _and_ I get to challenge one group of truckers to a game of poker.”

“Deal.” Lou locks pinkie fingers with her, and then leans over and presses a warm kiss to Debbie's temple, ruffling her hair. “Oh!” she says when she pulls back. “I almost forgot.” Opening the glove compartment, Lou rummages around and then hands the contents to Debbie. A pair of soft ballet flats, in exactly her size.

There’s a motorcycle waiting for them too, propped against a tree with two helmets resting on the seat. Lou tosses one to Debbie. “Well, our flight’s not until noon,” she says, mounting the bike and testing the handlebars. “Where do you want to go?”

Putting on the shoes and the helmet, Debbie swings her leg over behind Lou, locks her arms around Lou’s waist, and rests her chin on her shoulder, breathing in carefully. “Anywhere,” she says. “As long as we go fast.”

Lou laughs, and kicks the stand up, and takes them away.

**Author's Note:**

> i had to rewatch "21" to write this and it's a good thing the fun i had watching ocean's 8 made up for the disaster of that movie


End file.
